


Rupture

by rhymeswithmonth



Series: Canon Ficlets [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, just inspired by feelings lately, set now (so November 2015), so short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5236688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithmonth/pseuds/rhymeswithmonth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a split second he’s surprised when it’s twenty-one year-old Harry that opens the door. Obviously he didn’t actually think that he’d be sixteen, but still, when Louis had been picturing this playing out in his head, he had been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rupture

It’s easy to pretend to hate Harry.

No. They never used the word hate. Hate implies passion, hate implies fire in the blood, emotions and depth, a shared history embroiled with **feelings**. Hate is too easily mistaken for love.

It’s easy to pretend Harry doesn't exist.

It’s easy because they’ve had practice. For every minute he’s known Harry there’s been eyes on them. (Except those first precious seconds, not where time hung frozen and the rush of water and eyes clicking into place echoing against tiles) He’s never known a time when the air around Harry is a free space.

Simply being in the same country is significant. Harry can be all the way in Los Angles and even still New York is A Risk. Close that distance in increments and the oxygen is just as gradually sucked from their lungs. A city of a million people dissolves and it must be just the two of them. A building will crash down on their heads. A room is a void, black maw devouring.

So in a black hole of a room, they ignore each other. But the thing with learned behaviours is that it’s more difficult, in the end, not to do it than to do it. Ignoring Harry’s existence is as second nature as blinking.

It’s only when he notices that he **notices**. There are no cameras, no eyes, no windows unshuttered. And he just…it’s easier to keep going, see? He knows (from experience) that if he lets himself acknowledge him again, the pain of having to go back after will be too much. It’s best for everyone, really.

And then everything stops. Break, hiatus, vacation, sabbatical, intermission, gap year, recess, furlough.

Rupture.

There’s all the talk of lads holidays, of meeting up and hanging out, writing together and chilling together and. And.

They’ve not set a determined time yet, for when they’re going back. And it’s this loose, open end that finally does it. None of them had ever uttered it aloud, but there’s a chance they won’t ever go back at all. Sure they all fully intend to give it another go when the time’s right, but nothings ever certain especially not for them. And it’s freeing like nothing has been since before. Not having his days scheduled stretching out ahead of him like a neon path. The empty days and uncertainty and room for failure is **exhilarating**.

He shows up at Harry’s door with nothing but the clothes on his back. He’s a tiny bit high, just a smidge, just enough to chase away the last of his sensibilities. He knows the code to the gate, and even has a copy of the key, but letting himself in doesn’t feel right. He needs the collision, the moment of conflict to happen.

For a split second he’s surprised when it’s twenty-one year-old Harry that opens the door. Obviously he didn’t actually think that he’d be sixteen, but still, when Louis had been picturing this playing out in his head, he had been. Sixteen and pudgy-cheeks, frizzy little cotton-candy haloed cherub draped in ill-fitting clothes, blushing and pouty, perfectly preserved just as he had left him. But the man who blinks down at him does so from six feet off the floor. He’s surprised to see him, clearly, but easily falls aside to let him in. For a beat it’s silent, and they teeter on the edge of their old habits, the black hole looming.

“Hi.”


End file.
